


Living Doll

by orphan_account



Series: Puppendoktor [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emetophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Puppets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mean prank gift from Hawke turns out to be even stranger than expected.</p><p>or: Anders is having magical accidents again</p><p>or: I'm sorry Fenris</p><p>or: Van can't say anything without me thinking of fics and sometimes even writing them</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vanamiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanamiya/gifts).



> The ill-advised fic of doom is finished! Sorry for... all of it really

Hawke leaned casually against the wall, grinning mockingly as Anders stared at his ‘gift’ in horror.

“You don’t like it? And when I’ve gone to such trouble. After all, _you_ are the one who told me you were _so lonely_ ,” he cooed and stroked Anders’ cheek, laughing when he flinched. “Do enjoy yourself a little.”

With those words he was out of the door, and Anders was left with tears in his eyes and a sex doll.

He wiped his eyes and tried to swallow the shame and anger that was threatening to overwhelm him. The notion that some little shit could reduce him, the apostate Grey Warden abomination, to tears was ridiculous, but the fact remained that the hurt from Hawke’s initial rejection was still fresh, and now he had doubled down in the cruellest way.

The doll stared up at him with empty green eyes, and he shuddered as he grabbed it to carry it to his bedroom, the only space where it was relatively safe from patients’ eyes until he could dispose of the thing. It was a lot heavier than expected, however, so he ended up dragging it back. After some deliberation, he tried stuffing it under his cot with the rest of his possessions, but it didn’t quite fit. He simply hoped no one would come back here and question why a pair of bare feet was sticking out; he was happy as long as he didn’t have to look into the creepy, glassy eyes.

The following days were spent buried in his clinic, his plans for the mage underground, his manifesto, anything to keep his mind off Hawke. The doll had quickly become part of the furniture, the feet elaborately painted with white lines not even registering anymore.

The group’s traditional card night came and went, and the next day saw Isabela sitting on one of his cots and winking at the patient Anders was just guiding past her and back to his family.

“Careful, Bela; he’s got a weak heart,” he said with a slight smile and sat down opposite her.

“Always spoiling my fun. How are you doing, Sparklefingers? We missed you yesterday.” She looked genuinely concerned, so Anders bit back any replies about probably not everyone missing him and merely shrugged.

“Lots to do. Do you want a cup of tea?”

She snorted.

“Some whisky would do, but… oh well, I’ll take the tea.”

He chuckled and went to prepare it, Isabela following close behind. She let out a low whistle when she entered his room.

“I thought he was taking the piss, but… obviously not. I’m sorry, Sparkles.”

“What?” He turned away from the kettle and groaned when he saw what she was looking at. “He’s bragging about it then?”

She sighed.

“Well, this is partially my fault.” When Anders narrowed his eyes, she quickly held up her hands. “Not like you think. I just told Hawke about a friend of mine who in turn had another friend who was said to own an incredibly realistic doll. We just had a little chuckle about the whole idea, but I never thought he’d… Hightown is just not good for the guy.” She shook her head. Anders scoffed.

“Can say that again,” he muttered glumly. Isabela rubbed his back soothingly.

“Don’t take it so hard, sweet thing. You deserve a lot better.” Comforting time was apparently over then because she clapped her hands. “Well, let’s see the little gem then.”

“No, absolutely not. It’s staying down there until I’ve figured out where to put it. Or, I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that yet, maybe I should just set the blighted thing on fire.”

“Come on, Sparkles, I’m dying to see it!” She tugged on the doll’s ankle, and Anders knelt down with a sigh to help her pull it out from under the bed.

“Oh, but that is a work of art. Just look at that… everything. Did you even spare the pretty boy one glance before stashing him away?”

“Bela, it’s a creepy elven fetish doll; I really don’t need to see more.”

She gasped.

“You didn’t even peek?”

Anders grunted and pulled Isabela back when she tugged curiously on the short leather pants covering the doll’s crotch.

“Stop that. The thing is gross enough without you getting all hot and bothered. Just…”

“Fine, fine, I’m going,” she said with a smirk and sauntered towards the front door. “But promise to tell me how it feels if you do end up getting curious.”

He rolled his eyes and shoved her gently through the door to lock up behind her. With a sigh he returned to his bedroom and stared down at the doll splayed out on the floor. Following an impulse, he snatched up a clean shirt and, after hesitating a moment, grabbed the doll by its shoulders and dragged it into a sitting position, leaning it against his bed. He lifted one of its arms and pulled a shirt sleeve over it. The arm stayed raised when he went for the other, and he realised, half disturbed and half fascinated, that the thing was apparently fully poseable. While he finished putting the shirt on the doll, he idly wondered how it had been made. From the slight hum when he touched it he knew that it had to be enchanted somehow, but it was impossible to tell what material the skin was made of. It felt almost like real skin, only cold, he thought with a shiver as he ran a finger down the bridge of the doll’s nose to land on its slightly parted lips.

He pulled back with a shake of his head, grabbed the doll round the middle, and hoisted it up onto his bed with a grunt of effort. It remained sitting rigidly with its legs stretched out in front of it while Anders went looking for that one pair of trousers he never wore. Once he had found them, he wasted no time in putting them on the doll, lacing them tight and rolling up the hems to fit them to its smaller frame. He looked at his finished work and decided the clothes did absolutely nothing to make the doll look less disturbing; they just made him feel bad about shoving it back under the bed. Eventually he manhandled the doll over to his desk and put it in the chair.

“I’m not sharing my bed with you,” he muttered as he arranged its limbs more comfortably. “You can sleep there during the day; at night you get the chair.”


	2. Chapter 2

For five days, Anders had dutifully hauled the doll back and forth between bed and chair until, after a gruelling day at the clinic, he had groaned and collapsed next to it on the bed for the first time. After that it had simply stayed there, and Anders had to admit that sleeping next to a weird doll made him wake up feeling surprisingly rested.

So when he returned from a long and annoying night at the Hanged Man that Isabela had pestered him into attending, he threw himself on the bed without a second thought, massaging his temples.

“Evening,” he muttered. “Had a quiet one, did you? Wish I could’ve. You know Bela said Hawke’s little bout of Hightown Euphoria was more or less over and he was almost back to normal? He really is behaving marginally less appallingly, but apparently I’m still not forgiven for… oh, I don’t even know. Saying I liked him after he had flirted with me for ages, I guess. Tonight he said he was glad I’d managed to pull my dick out of… well, you for one night. Sorry, you know I wouldn’t… do that.”  He sighed and sent out a spark of healing magic to get rid of the throbbing in his head, and screamed when everything exploded into blinding light.

After what could have been seconds or days, Anders came to and opened his eyes. The bed beside him was empty, and for one wild moment he thought healing magic was perhaps anathema to creepy sex puppets and he had completely disintegrated it with a little zap of headache relief.

Before he could chide himself for not trying this earlier, his eyes wandered further, and his mouth dropped open at the sight of the doll huddling in the corner of the room, staring at him with suddenly very alive eyes.

“Ah…” What did one say to an accidentally magically animated puppet? “Are you okay?” he finally settled on. The doll stared at him for a moment longer, seeming to consider the question, then promptly doubled over and threw up on the floor. 

Anders was on his feet in a second and knelt down next to the retching doll, hands fluttering uselessly inches from its back, unsure if he should touch right now. He jumped up, hurried back to his bed, and came back with his blanket that he draped gently around the doll’s shoulders. Slender hands gripped it and pulled it tighter as the doll curled up in the corner again, eyes following Anders as he grabbed a rag and blindly mopped up, fearing that he would be sick himself if he looked too closely. After cleaning up, Anders sat down opposite the doll, who was still sitting almost motionlessly, only the hands clenching and unclenching and stroking the coarse fabric of the blanket.

Again he wondered about the protocol in a situation like this.

“My name is Anders,” he said eventually.

The doll nodded. A little heartened by the understanding, Anders waited for a reply. When none came, he asked, “What’s your name?”

A frown, then, “Fenris.” His voice was hoarse from disuse, the simple name coming out slow and clumsy like a word in a foreign language. Anders smiled weakly.

“Hi Fenris.”

Steadying himself with a hand on the wall, Fenris stood up on shaky legs and looked around the room.

“We’re in Kirkwall, in Darktown,“ Anders said tentatively while getting to his feet as well. Fenris nodded, giving no indication whether this was news to him or not.

When he suddenly clenched his jaw and pressed a hand to his stomach, Anders quickly grabbed his arm, leading him over to the designated privy area that he had curtained off.

“Can you manage?” he asked nervously. The elf nodded and waited for Anders to leave and pull the curtain shut.

Doubting that Fenris would consent to sharing his bed now, he dragged one of the clinic’s cots into the room and set it up by the wall.

“You can sleep in the bed if-”

Fenris, who had just reappeared, stopped him with a tired shake of his head. He curled up on the cot with his back to the wall, tucking his limbs close to his body and shutting his eyes.

“Good night,” Anders whispered. At a loss for what to do or even think, he went to bed as well and stared at the white hair shimmering faintly in the dark until he fell asleep.

He woke up to green eyes watching him intently early the next morning, and the rest of the day was no less unnerving. Fenris was as silent as he had been as a doll, but he was constantly moving. He helped without being asked, rolling bandages and cleaning up empty potion bottles; and when there was nothing to do, he twitched and shifted, his sharp gaze following Anders wherever he went.

When the last patient had left, Anders sat down with an exhausted sigh.

“Jarek, the boy with the scraped knee, promised to ask his brother for some clothes. He should have just grown out of your size.”

Fenris nodded, his face still set in a frown.

“Thank you.” He remained standing, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and wound his fingers into the loose fabric of his shirt sleeves.

With another deep sigh, Anders reached for the basket full of bread and rolls that one patient had left for him. He took a piece for himself and held the basket out to Fenris, who merely shook his head. Anders frowned.

“You should. Or I could try and whip up some soup for you, if you’d rather start light.”

“No.”

“You’ve got to eat, Fenris. Unless you really are an animated doll; then I suppose…”

“I am not a doll.”

“Oh. Good.” Or rather not. Anders had somewhat clung to the small hope that he had somehow brought someone to life who had never been anything other than a doll, and now he felt ill. How long had Fenris been like that? Had he been _conscious_? He wanted to ask, offer comfort, help, anything, but Fenris’ forbidding glare made his resolve falter. “So I… accidentally healed you? That’s all it took?”

Fenris nodded curtly.

“Your arm was touching mine when you healed yourself. The lyrium reacted… in unexpected ways.”

After a short moment of confusion, Anders’ eyes widened as he took in the white lines he had become so used to seeing on Fenris, the doll, from a completely new perspective.

“Those are…”

Fenris’ ears flattened, and for a moment he seemed to want to cross his arms defensively before he aborted the gesture and ended up sort of hugging himself.

“Sorry,” Anders mumbled, averting his eyes in an attempt to look less tall, magey, and threatening. “I just didn’t realise.”

Fenris spoke no more that night, nor the next day, nor the one after that. He accepted the clothes that Jarek brought with a nod of thanks and put them on; he kept helping around the clinic without ever saying a word to any of the patients; he finally started eating bread and consequently throwing up most of it; he still staunchly refused any offers of soup; he continued to be Anders’ twitchy, silent, and ever-watchful shadow; and it drove Anders up the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, this is a whole new level of sad. No offence, Anders.”

Anders spun around at the sound of the familiar voice behind him. Hawke and Varric stood in the clinic; the latter looking at Fenris with raised eyebrows, the former grinning like Satinalia had come early.

“You’re actually pathetic enough to bring a fuckdoll to life, aren’t you? Amazing.”

Fenris, who had tensed the moment Hawke had started talking, scowled harder than ever.

“Hawke. Varric,” Anders said quickly, “This is Fenris. Who is not a… doll.”

“Obviously. Does he still take your dick as well as before, or do I need to get you another?”

Anders looked in horror at Fenris, but the elf, inexplicably, had his eyes fixed on Varric.

"Haw-"

“I would have a word with the dwarf,” Fenris interrupted him before Anders could formulate an answer to Hawke’s remark, and turned abruptly to disappear into the bedroom. He shrugged helplessly when Varric shot him a bewildered glance, so the dwarf simply nodded and followed Fenris.

Hawke frowned.

“Is he going to have words or _words_? Has he been disappearing with your patients as well?”

“Will you just leave him alone, Hawke?" Anders snapped. "What do you want?”

“Aw sorry, I promise not to hurt your fuckdoll's feelings. As for what I want, Bone Pit? Hubert's having issues again, and I’m sure we’d all like to not die today.”

Anders rolled his eyes. He knew he would come, as little as he wanted to save Hawke’s arse from getting roasted by dragons or whatever else they might encounter today. But only if… He turned to Fenris when he and Varric returned.

“Fenris, can I leave you alone for a few hours?”

Fenris nodded, face as blank as ever.

“Alright, then I’ll… see you later.” He grabbed his coat and staff and, with a last look at Fenris, who was already busying himself with folding sheets, followed Hawke and Varric out the door.

“I don’t suppose you’d tell me what he wanted?” he asked Varric quietly while Hawke walked ahead.

“Just a little errand, Blondie,” replied Varric evasively. “He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about any details either.”

Anders snorted.

“‘Not forthcoming’ is a very charitable description. He’s been a real boy for days now, and I still know barely more than his name.”

“Good of you to let him stay,” Varric said casually, giving Anders the _look_ , his very own ‘do tell me all your secrets’ look.

“It didn’t occur to me to throw him out,” Anders said honestly. “I’m more surprised he hasn’t up and left yet.”

Varric shook his head in mock disappointment.

“You only listen to words, don’t you? Your lad has pointy ears and a Tevinter accent as thick as Hawke's skull; and you wonder why he’s not eager to go anywhere.”

“Oh. I hadn’t… oh. The accent isn’t that noticeable,” Anders defended himself.

“Plus, what other places come to mind when I give you the scenario that someone has been magically turned into a horrific sex doll?”

“Orzammar?” Anders suggested with a grin, and Varric rolled his eyes.

“Not saying you aren't a smart man, Blondie, but you’ve got your denser moments.”

After a few hours of dragon slaying and wondering if he should treat Fenris any differently after what Varric had said, Anders returned to the clinic. When he entered, he couldn’t quite suppress a smile at the picture in front of him. Fenris was carefully bandaging an elderly woman’s hand while a little girl clung to her and watched Fenris’ every move.

“Nela, Tilda. Are you alright?”

Nela beamed at him from her spot on Tilda’s lap.

“Nan fell and hurt her hand, but the scary elf fixed it.”

Fenris’ ears twitched, and he quickly pulled his hand back from where he had just finished tying off the bandage around Tilda’s wrist.

“Nela!” she hissed and said to Fenris, who had stood up, “Thank you, love. Your help was very appreciated.”

“You are welcome. Perhaps let the healer have a look if he feels up to it, to make sure it is nothing serious after all.” With those words, Fenris turned on his heel and retreated to the bedroom; but Tilda stopped Anders with a wave of her hand.

“You save your strength; it’s just a bruise. Nela insisted that I come.”

“Did she? Well, it’s good that you came, because look what I found today.” Anders pulled a blue and green woven bracelet from his coat pocket and laughed when Nela managed to look at once delighted and suspicious. “I promise it was in a box. Not on a dead person. I would never give you dead people things, even if you call my friends scary.”

Relieved, she held out her arm for Anders to put the bracelet on.

“Thank you, Anders. And,” she continued in a whisper, “Can you tell the scary elf I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I will,” he whispered in response and stepped back to give her and Tilda room to stand up. “Are you okay walking home by yourself?”

“Of course, love, don’t you worry. Thank you, and thank your friend again as well.”

He locked the doors behind them and went to the bedroom where Fenris was already curled up on his cot.

“Thank you for taking care of things while I was out. Also thanks from Tilda; and sorry from Nela,” Anders said carefully, as the elf’s expression was even stormier than usual. He sighed when he got the customary curt nod along with an unreadable glare in response.

“Night, Fenris.”

“Good night, Anders.”

He glanced over in surprise, but Fenris’ eyes were already shut.


	4. Chapter 4

A loud crash woke Anders what felt like minutes after falling asleep. He had barely rolled out of bed and grabbed his staff when someone bellowed “Apostate!” and the bedroom door flew open to reveal four fully armed and armoured templars.

Anders froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He stood no chance in a fight against four people, protected by nothing but a threadbare shirt and trousers; probably not even with Justice’s help. He felt a light touch against his arm, and saw at a quick glance to the side that Fenris had slipped next to him. His presence only increased Anders' panic because Fenris was the last person who deserved to die by a templar's - or anyone else's - sword.

One of the templars took a step forward.

“You know how much work it is to keep those rats living down here from warning their beloved sewer mage that he’s about to get a visit? But I’m inclined to say it was worth it now that we’re not just getting you but your little boyfriend as well. Don’t you think?”

Smart enough not to wait for a response, the man struck in the blink of an eye; but before the pommel of his sword could knock Anders out, a flash of blue darted between them. Anders watched with wide eyes as the man collapsed and Fenris shook blood splatters off his hand.

The remaining templars stood frozen for a long moment, and Anders couldn’t hold it against them, as they had just seen someone put his fist through a solid chestplate; but then they attacked, and Anders felt Justice’s presence, normally a rumble of discontent at the back of his mind, swell to a roar and wash over him.

The next thing he saw was Fenris standing in front of him, fidgeting and fiddling with his blood-soaked shirt sleeve, and looking at him with that infuriatingly impassive gaze that hid a myriad of thoughts.

“We have to leave.”

Anders nodded numbly, still not feeling fully with himself. He pulled out his emergency pack from under the bed, grabbed his pillow and coat, and followed Fenris before he could be tempted to look too closely at the mangled corpses littering the floor.

“Where does the dwarf live?” Fenris asked as Anders arrived outside after packing as many potions and supplies as he could from the clinic.

Without thinking, Anders took the way to he had gone countless times before while casting sideways glances at Fenris.

“You can crush people’s hearts in their chests,” he finally said.

“You are possessed,” Fenris replied simply. Anders winced.

“Right. Sorry.” They took the lift up to Lowtown and walked the rest of the way in silence. Once they had arrived at the Hanged Man, Anders knocked on the suite door; and shortly after, a bleary-eyed Varric appeared. He seemed to wake up slightly at the sight of them, but Fenris spoke before he could open his mouth to ask about their state.

“Do you have it?”

Varric nodded and went over to the table.

“Sure, elf. Easy as.” He handed a piece of paper to Fenris, who looked it over and frowned.

“What does it say?”

“Ah. It’s abandoned.”

“The owner?”

“Previous owner was a Tevinter woman named Hadriana. Deceased. No will or relatives if I were to guess because there’s no record of a current owner.”

For the very first time, Anders saw Fenris’ lips curl into the tiniest of smiles.

“Thank you for your assistance. I will be back during the day with what I owe you.”

“You do that, elf. Now take Blondie and let me sleep.”

Fenris nodded and left, Anders following him with a confused wave goodbye at Varric.

“Where are we going?”

“Just come.”

They walked all the way up to Hightown to a crumbling mansion in the Chantry’s shadow, which Fenris entered without hesitation. He purposefully crossed the grand entrance hall and climbed the stairs, disappearing into the middle room on the first floor. Anders followed hesitantly and found Fenris lying on a large, dusty bed, thin arms wrapped around himself, staring at the partly caved-in ceiling.

Without looking at Anders, he briefly disentangled a hand to pat the bed next to himself. Anders obliged and stretched out beside Fenris, joining him in looking up at the bit of night sky visible through the roof.

“The house has a wine cellar,” Fenris remarked suddenly. Anders blinked.

“Ah… I obviously can’t tell you what to do, but speaking as a healer, I’m not so sure wine is a good idea for someone who can barely keep down dry bread.”

Fenris hummed and inclined his head with another slight smile.

“I meant if you wanted some.”

“Thank you, but… Justice doesn’t like me drinking.”

Fenris looked at him oddly.

“Justice is your demon?”

“Yes, he doesn’t like that either. He’s a spirit.”

“I see.”

When he said nothing else, Anders frowned.

“You are remarkably calm about this.”

For a long moment, Fenris remained quiet.

“After the past years… a single abomination, who does not even have the heart to destroy a lifeless doll that he hates, seems… trivial.”

His voice sounded so tired and haunted that Anders already had his arm halfway around his shoulders to pull him into a hug before he realised what he was doing and froze, staring into Fenris’ wide, startled eyes. 

He was about to pull back and apologise when Fenris lunged at him and wound his arms around Anders’ waist, squeezing him tighter than someone his size should be able to. Anders returned the hug a little more gently and stroked Fenris’ back carefully. When his hand travelled up the elf’s bumpy spine and into his soft hair, Fenris made a small noise of content and tightened his hold even more.

Wondering when exactly he would reach the limit of how much confusion one single little mage could take, Anders kept stroking until Fenris' breathing evened out and his arms went lax.

**Author's Note:**

> The things that don't make sense now hopefully will after part 2. And possibly 3.


End file.
